Making a (False) Prophet
by M.C.E.Black
Summary: When an airship arrives, claiming a new life aboard Columbia, it seemed like an out for Charlotte and her Mother. While skeptical of the Prophet's beliefs, her Mother adjusts quickly, while Charlotte learns it's best to keep her mouth closed - until the day a woman Charlotte believes to be dead walks into her bookshop and asks for her aid in bringing a guest to the flying mainland.
1. Newcomer

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own Bioshock or any of the related titles. Only my OC and such are my own.

**A/N:** This is my first attempt at a Bioshock Infinite fanfic. It may not involve some of the major characters (Booker/Elizabeth) in this chapter in particular, however, they will play a very important role. The fact that this world allows for AUs so easily makes it all the more fun. Enjoy.

**Chapter One: Newcomer**

They said she was the Lamb.

I said it was all a load of bullshit.

Columbia was supposed to be a new haven. We weren't among the first people to be carted via flying machine to meet the "City in the Clouds", but as soon as Mother caught wind of the lifestyle - as soon as she saw the photos of the beautiful buildings, the children playing in the square, the view of the sky - she signed us up for the next flight. As for what Father Comstock believed, we never cared much for it. Mother had her strong opinions, and was known for her loud mouth amongst the women in our community back home. As soon as we boarded our flight, she earned a reputation with the new Columbian citizens as they raved about the Prophet and his high hopes for our futures, and she did nothing more than turn up her nose and scoff.

Perhaps I got it from my Mother, which made me wildly unpopular with the women around town - and the talk of the tavern, if you know what I mean. I bit my tongue during worship, and avoided those in town who preached while stood upon a park bench, however, in small conversation, my oppositions to the beliefs of the Prophet were hardly silenced.

I was twelve when we first set foot on the floating continent of Columbia. In the thirteen or so years between then and now, the environment started to grow on us. I could navigate the mainland with little difficulty, although I was advised to avoid particular areas of lower class. Lower class, of course, meant any non-white, non-American-born citizen. They did little to mask this fact, what with the propoganda strewn all over the sides of the factory buildings and the raids of a little place known as "Shanty Town" sounding over the radios every other weekend. These people, however, were not excluded from being a part of Columbia, despite how they were treated once they arrived here. As Jimmy Larkin, the local bartender, liked to put it: "Someone has to clean the shithouses."

Mother changed, slowly, but surely. She came home one day with and older gentleman she'd met at the Liberty Festival and less than a year later, he was the new head of our household. Shortly after that, she became a regular at the Church, and spent most of her free time - when not praying to Benjamin Franklin or George Washington - who I decreed to be the strangest Gods I had ever laid eyes on - searching for a young man to marry me off to. So far, her suitors were less than acceptable, and I did my part by keeping myself locked away in the old bookshop where I'd been employed since I was considered too mouthy to attend school any longer. If I were to marry, and that didn't look likely - just ask the ladies at Miss Katherine's Hair and Beauty Salon - I would return to the lands below, where things were normal.

As for the girl, she couldn't be much younger than me. The Prophet believed that Lady Comstock gave birth to her after only being in the womb for seven days. We weren't around for the birth of the Lamb - Elizabeth, although no one used her real name - but her birthday was celebrated every year as though it were a national holiday. People claimed to see her out and about, disguised as an old woman, or a school child, but I knew the truth. That girl had not felt the breeze on her skin since before the passing of Lady Comstock. Father Comstock saw to that personally.

I felt bad for the poor girl, whoever she was. I did not believe her to be the child of the man so many looked up to. I had read the books. I knew how the human reproductive system worked. Even with the help of a nameless God, it didn't make any sense.

People had started to talk though. After the death of Lady Comstock - a murder at the hands of a colored woman named Daisy Fitzroy - riots broke out in the lower classes. My Mother insisted I stay inside, although the hordes of people never reached our streets. It was over as soon as it began, and things returned to normal, although the fires below were far from quenched. I had heard rumors, mostly from the men who hung around the corner tavern, about an uprising. Daisy Fitzroy was still alive, and still building a following, and Comstock would get what was coming to him sooner or later, they were sure of it. Or vice-versa, they said. One of them had to come out on top, and if she had eluded Comstock this long, Fitzroy was a force to be reckoned with for certain.

"Get your nose out of that book, Miss Costello," a voice came from the doorway. "I don't pay you to read. I pay you to keep this place presentable."

Ms. Golding, the spinster with the tightest lips I had ever seen on another human being, ran the bookshop, and also happened to be my employer. She claimed to be doing my Mother a great favor when she took me under her wing, as no one in their right mind would hire that "Costello Brat". My outbursts in class had made it as public news, for which I received a bare-bottomed whipping upon my return home, from both my Mother and Step-Father. I learned very quickly to keep my comments low, and my escapades far from the ears of my elders.

"I've already done the chores for the day," I informed her, laying the book down on the counter in front of me. "I even delivered Ms. Madison's order to her, personally, with the note you instructed."

Ms. Golding stood by the door, eyeing me with a look that said quickly obviously that she did not believe a word I said. I was not lying, this time, though I grew accustomed to receiving this look in particular two or three times a day. As expected, she crossed to the shelves on the far side of the room, running a gloved finger along the tops of the books. As she lifted the clean finger to her eyes, she pulled a face of disappointment. I couldn't help but smile smugly in return.

"Very well," she said. "I'll be back shortly with a list of tasks. I'm sure there's something around here for you to do."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

Ms. Golding ascended the stairs to the second level, and I sighed, resting my chin on my hand. I didn't hate my job, that was for sure, but Ms. Golding certainly made it difficult to enjoy it as much as I would have liked. I must have read through most of the books on the shelves multiple times, some even to the point where I could recite them verbatim if I wished it. Circumstances, however, were never appropriate for such a talent.

I jumped a little as a young man rode up in front of the shop on a bright blue bicycle. Hopping off the seat, he leaned it against the wall of the building and started for the door. Entering the shop, he removed his hat, and I smiled, this time a little more genuinely.

"Good afternoon, Alexander," I said politely.

"Good afternoon, Miss Charlotte," Alexander Rex replied, approaching the counter.

Alexander was a well-to-do young man who always made it a point to stop by every Thursday afternoon on his way home from work. He claimed to be picking a book for his ailing Mother, but I saw through that act after the second day. I always thought he was sweet on me, and I admitted openly - to myself - that he was easy on the eyes. Mother wouldn't be disappointed in the slightest if I brought him home.

"I've been keeping this safe for you," I said, handing a paper-wrapped book over the edge of the counter.

Alexander took it, though I was tempted to hold it for a second longer, just to toy with him. He nodded kindly, touching his hand to the spot on his head where his hat sat only moments before.

"You're a darling, you know that, right, Miss Charlotte?" he said with a smile.

"You flatter me, Alexander," I replied. "Strange selection this time. I never thought your Mother to be the kind of woman who would read such dangerous romances."

Alexander laughed, shaking his head. "You're mistaken, Miss Charlotte," he said. "This book isn't for my Mother this time. This time it's for someone special."

I felt something in my chest tighten. The book I spent so much time precariously wrapping happened to be "Behind the Veil" by the one and only Miss Everline Trask - one of Columbia's most risque authors. There was an entire group of women who tried their darnedest to rid the whole country of her writings, but even they couldn't help but admit the books were exceptionally good. The movement, although it still existed, made no progress, and Miss Trask's works remained in circulation.

This book in particular happened to be a personal favorite of mine. I was certain Alexander knew it, and I was certain this was all some kind of ploy.

I said to him loftily: "What a lucky lady!"

"Indeed!" he responded, his smile unfading. "But alas, I am the luckier to have such a lady, Miss Charlotte!" He moved a little closer to the counter, and that tightening in my chest grew almost unbearable. I was fairly certain I would pass out right then and there if he said my name one more time. "Miss Charlotte -" Oh, there it was! "Can I confess something to you?"

Oh, I wish you would, I thought.

"Certainly," I said. "I'm running short on gossip these days."

Alexander leaned his arms crossed against the counter and dropped his voice low, although the twinkle in his blue eyes could not be mistaken. "I'm in love, Miss Charlotte," he admitted. "I'm in love, and I never thought it possible."

There it was. He had said it, and yet, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know whether to keep in my surprise or squeal with delight. I didn't want to be like the other girls who giggled behind their fans, or whispered in packs as the gentlemen passed by on their way to the bars, adjusting their collars to show off just a little more of their bosom than society liked. I wasn't known for that kind of thing, and I certainly couldn't allow myself to do that now, no matter what kind of standing Alexander Rex had within the community.

"Oh, Alexander," I started slowly. "I - I don't know what you want me to say..."

"Say you're happy for me, Miss Charlotte!" Alexander burst with excitement. "You're my friend, and I want you to be happy for me! This is the real thing, and I never thought it would happen to me. We've already spoken to the Prophet, and he's blessed the marriage and everything - "

I didn't understand. He'd already spoken to Father Comstock about an arrangement of marriage, before saying anything to me. That didn't sound like the proper way to go about things. After all, he hadn't even asked me out for coffee or an evening picture show.

"You should hear the things he's sayin', Miss Charlotte," Alexander moved in close once again. "My future, and the future of Columbia! Good things are comin', and he's sure of it!"

I stood in shock and silence. I couldn't even muster up a smile at this point if I tried, let alone look at the boy standing in front of me. He never spoke of the Prophet so highly before, and what of this marriage, still. He had yet to explain just what on Columbia he was talking about.

"Miss Charlotte," he expression fell to concern. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm sorry," my voice didn't want to come out. "I'm sorry, Alexander, but I'm so very confused. You're talking about marriage?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"To whom, may I ask?"

Alexander hesitated, as though he could suddenly read my thoughts. He twisted the hat in his hands nervously, the book still tucked tightly under his arm. "Why I -" he stammered. "I - I thought I discussed that with you already, Miss Charlotte. Wendy Temple - from down the way - she runs the little flower shop on the corner, just after the tavern. You've met Wendy, haven't you? I could have sworn I mentioned her to you before."

I shook my head. He had not mentioned Wendy Temple ever in our discussions, and that I was sure of. It was foolish of me to think he was talking about me all along. After all, like I said, he hadn't even asked to see me outside of the shop before. And yet, all of the visits had to have meant something.

"Oh Miss Charlotte," he didn't move from his spot, the painfully obvious look of guilt lining his face. "Did you think - Oh I am so sorry, I never thought that - if for one second I thought you might - I am so sorry..."

I forced myself to look at him, pushing any and all feeling of sickness to the bottom of my stomach. Coughing gently, my voice returned at proper volume, as though nothing bothered me at all. I even managed to laugh, but only the smallest, most false laugh I ever laughed in my entire life. Even Alexander knew it.

"Oh, don't be silly, my dear boy!" I said much louder than I expected. "Did you think that I was thinking - oh no!" Another false laugh. "Of course, I knew you were talking about Wendy! I just thought it was a little - er - soon, to be thinking of marriage. But these are new times, after all, aren't they? Everyone's doing crazy things these days."

Alexander nodded. "Yes, they certainly are," he said nervously.

A silence fell between us and I looked down at the counter space in front of me. I fidgeted with a pile of paperwork I had already organized that morning, because I couldn't think of anything else to do with my hands. Finally, Alexander spoke up.

"Are you sure you're alright, Miss Charlotte?"

I looked up only briefly and smiled even more so. "Of course!" I said. "I give you my blessing, my friend. I'm sure your lady is waiting for you, however. You should probably get on your way."

I didn't actually want him to leave, but given the circumstances, I had nothing more to say to the boy. I wanted to be alone in my bookshop, with my ancient hag of an employer, and my books. I wanted to watch the children pass by in peace, and when five o'clock rolled around, I would lock the doors and head home as though nothing out of the ordinary happened.

"Yes," he agreed. "I suppose I should be going."

I said nothing in response.

"I'll see you, then," he added. "Next week."

Again, I failed to say anything in return. I only looked up when the little bell over the door chimed, and I heard the lock click into place. Alexander and his bicycle were gone from the front of the shop, and I was, as requested, left to my quiet room. As the weight of the recent events washed over me, I collapsed onto a nearby stool, resisting the urge to cry. If I cried, Ms. Golding would be down in an instant, complaining about the racket, and I couldn't have that. I couldn't have the old woman see me in such a vulnerable state.

Sit up, Charlotte, I said to myself. She'll be back any minute. Wipe your face.

I did so and glanced at the clock. It was much later than I remembered. I was surprised to find that we only had a few minutes before we closed up for the evening. Alexander had arrived much later than normal. That should have been a tip-off right away that something was out of the ordinary.

As I rounded my counter, I heard the bell chime once again. I turned to inform the customer they only had a few minutes to peruse our selection before we were locking the doors.

"Excuse me, Miss," I said. "We're just about to close shop -"

I froze as the woman lowered her hood. A lady I had only seen a handful of times before at a very far distance stood in front of me. She wore a coat, almost as if to disguise herself, but the light red hair, tucked back every so beautifully, gave her away immediately.

"Is Ms. Golding here?" the woman asked.

For the second time that hour, I found myself almost unable to speak. "Yes ma'am," I said. "She's just upstairs. Shall I fetch her for you?"

The woman shook her head. "Oh no, my dear. She's expecting me. I'll just fetch her myself."

The woman crossed in front of me, starting for the staircase. It was only on very special circumstances that customers were allowed on the second floor, and that was strictly by Ms. Golding's invitation only. Ms. Golding had said nothing about this visitor in particular, though I could hardly imagine she would mind my allowing her full clearance.

"You're Rosalind Lutece!" I couldn't help myself. The words merely tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them.

Rumors had circulated for years about the Luteces. Some believed the pair, Rosalind and Robert, to be dead, but they appeared shortly after that rumor started and quite publicly debunked it. I knew less about Robert, but Rosalind - I couldn't believe she was standing in front of me - Rosalind was the whole reason Columbia managed to survive in the skies. She aided Father Comstock in his creation of Columbia from the very beginning. Rosalind created the very devices that kept Columbia afloat. I had read about it my books.

Rosalind turned her head to face me, pausing at the very bottom stair. She smirked, and tipped her head in a short nod. "You're a bright girl," she said. "Surrounded by books all day, I would expect you to be."

I didn't stop there. I should have let her go, but I couldn't let a moment like this pass. "So the rumors," I foolishly brought up. "The rumors about you and your brother, they're not true. I mean, you're obviously not dead."

Rosalind blinked. "I'd like to think of myself as alive," she commented. "But then again, who really gets to decide these things?"

I didn't know how to respond. With another enigmatic smile, she turned from me and started up the stairs. Once the bottoms of her skirts were no longer in sight, I glanced back at the door, and again to the now empty stairwell, making a split-second decision. Darting for the lock, I slid it in place, ensuring no customer could enter. A moment later, I toed my way up the stairs behind her.

Certainly, Mother would panic if I did not arrive home at my usual time, but she would have to understand. If Rosalind Lutece was in my bookshop, she was looking for something very important. And I would be damned if I wasn't going to hear every last word.

**A/N:** So hey - let me know what you think, or if you're interested at all in what happens next. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. The Lutece Laboratory

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bioshock or any of the related titles.

**Chapter 2: The Lutece Laboratory**

I should not have been surprised at all to find the door closed when I reached the second floor landing. A meeting of this kind of importance could not be overheard by anyone; particularly her wretch of a library aide. Holding my breath, I dropped myself to the floor. My skirts muffled the sound my knees made as I inched closer to the door, pressing an ear gently against the wood.

At first I could only hear mumbling, and then one of the ladies passed in front of the door, nearly sending my heart into my throat. As she stepped away, it slowly settled back into my chest. Madame Lutece spoke first.

"It will only be for a short while," she said. "I need someone I can trust not to touch anything. We have the signs, but those curious enough will not heed their warning, I am sure of it."

"And just where is it you're planning on going?" Ms. Golding probed. The tone of suspicion I had become too familiar with laced every word.

"Ah," Madame Lutece replied reluctantly. "Those details I cannot divulge, as they would be difficult to explain. Too many questions will get you into trouble these days, my dear Edna. The less you know, the safer you will be."

"This has nothing to do with the uprising, does it?" Ms. Golding's voice dropped slightly. Her next few words were out of earshot, no matter how hard I pressed to the door.

Madame Lutece cleared her throat gently. "No, my dear," she answered. "I have no direct connection to any uprising. Why would I want to destroy something I helped create?"

A silence feel between them. The woman had a point. The uprisings in Shanty Town wanted to overthrow the power of Father Comstock. Daisy Fitzroy wanted nothing more to dethrone the prophet. Madame Lutece forged the world upon which he sat. From what I had learned, her entire life was Columbia and it's survival. She would do nothing to harm that. At least, I didn't think so.

"Are you willing to help me?" Madame Lutece asked, her voice suddenly sharp. Even I could tell Madame Lutece's time was precious, and her visit seemed to be proving fruitless.

Someone inside drew a deep breath - I only assumed it was Ms. Golding. "I can offer you my books," Ms. Golding said finally. "As usual, they are at your disposal. However, further than that, I cannot offer you any assistance. I cannot imagine the Prophet will approve of such behaviors. What with you leaving Columbia and all."

I had never really thought of it before, until Ms. Golding said it aloud. No one ever did just leave Columbia. People died, as they did on the land below, but never under suspicious circumstances. Perhaps cruel and heartless circumstances, but never suspicious. Acts of violence were always justified somehow, be it difference of class or background.

But as for returning to the world below the skies, no - no one had even asked. When I was younger, I posed the question to my Mother several times. At first, she joked that we would return when she tired of living in paradise. After her marriage, the suggestion of leaving sounded like heresy. My Step-Father wouldn't hear of it, and my Mother did as my Step-Father instructed, so I learned to never mention it again.

"Very well," Madame Lutece said softly, sounding rather disappointed. "I said nothing about leaving Columbia, or not involving the Prophet in my plans. However, I see you are unfit for such a position. I need someone with an open mind, and a closed mouth. I thank you for the help you can provide, but I have all the books I could possibly need. I will seek assistance elsewhere."

Ms. Golding started to protest, but I could already hear Madame Lutece approaching the doorway. I didn't have the time to run back down the stairs, and certainly one of them would hear my footsteps either way. Sliding backward, I forced myself to my feet and darted inside a supply closet at the end of the hall. I could barely close the door in front of me, but held it close to my chest as I heard both women descend the stairs. Ms. Golding put up a fight, insisting Madame Lutece reconsider her offer, but Madame Lutece held her tongue, refusing to give in, or even respond.

I heard the bell above the door chime, and knew Madame Lutece had left, although I found myself entirely unsure just how I planned to sneak back down to the first floor where a miffed Ms. Golding awaited, assuming I had already left. I could be quiet, I decided, tip-toeing toward the stairs. I could be quiet, and slip by her, and be long gone by the time the bell caught her attention.

But no, I thought. Ms. Golding had more than likely set herself at the front counter, going over the dailing numbers and mentally kicking herself for speaking such a way to a woman like Madame Lutece. I would just have to risk it. If she asked I would - well, I would just have to come up with something.

Landing at the foot of the staircase, I thought for only a moment I was in the clear, when Ms. Golding's voice sounded, just as expected, from the counter.

"What do you think you're still doing here?" she screeched.

"I was just..." I stumbled, the pitch of her voice causing my ears to ring. "I was putting a few things away upstairs. I didn't know if your guest was still here, so I thought I'd help tidy up."

Ms. Golding gaped at me, her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. Giving her head a small shake, she waved toward the doorway. "Yes, yes, very well," she said. "You're excused for the evening. I will see you in the morning."

I nodded and retrieved my coat from the chair next to hers, draping it over my arm. As I reached for the doorknob, she spoke up once again.

"You didn't hear anything while you were...tidying up, did you, Miss Costello?"

"Hear anything, ma'am?" I feigned innocence. "Hear what?"

Ms. Golding blinked. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Yes, Ms. Golding," I said. "Good night."

"Good night."

And I was finally outside into the chilly evening air beyond. I had never been so thankful in my life to be outside those walls than in that instant. My head reeled with the thought of Madame Lutece standing only a few feet in front of me, even if it were only for a brief moment. There were so many things I wanted to ask her, so many questions we all had asked for years. She would know about the Prophet, for certain. She would know the truth behind the one they called the Lamb - this Elizabeth child. She had to be the most wonderfully fascinating human being on the whole entire -

"Good evening, Miss."

A woman's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I came to a halt. From the shadows just around the corner of the bookshop, under the awning of another building, stood the figure of a lady. As she moved into the fading sunlight, my heart stopped.

"M-Madame Lutece," I greeted her with mild shock. "I did not see you standing there."

"You are the girl from the bookshop, are you not?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "You were there in the shop with us just a few minutes ago?"

I nodded hastily. "Yes, ma'am," I said, although I almost regretted it. Even she had said it was better the less people knew about her - or her plans. "I - I mean, I was downstairs."

"You were outside the door," she smiled as she spoke. "A natural curiosity. I don't blame you."

I opened my mouth to insist that I had not been eavesdropping at all, but before I could form the words, she arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

I apologized, avoiding looking the woman in the face. It wasn't a ladylike quality to listen in on the conversations of elders. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten in trouble for it, and I was certain it wouldn't be the last. Although, Madame Lutece did not appear to be concerned or insulted.

"Do you like working at the bookshop, my dear?" she asked.

Politely, I replied: "Yes. Of course."

She saw through that lie just as she saw through the others. It was a little unnerving.

"Now, now," she said. "No need to put on a face for me, Miss..."

"Costello," I provided. "Charlotte Costello."

"Ah," she smiled, as though knowingly. "Yes. Miss Costello. You and your Mother arrived just over a decade ago, am I correct?"

I was baffled. Completely and utterly baffled. How a single woman kept tabs on the entire population of Columbia was beyond me. Unless, of course, my Mother and I were known for something I wasn't aware of. Perhaps my Mother's involvement at the Church had reached either the Prophet or Madame Lutece's ears. Yes, that would make sense. She had to have been acquainted with my Mother.

Although, Mother wasn't the kind of person to keep such things secret. Meeting an almost-celebrity - at least in regards to the folks of Columbia - would have been first class gossip amongst the women my Mother surrounded herself with. I would have heard about it in no time at all.

"Yes ma'am," I concurred. "How did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things, Miss Costello," she said. "Especially in regards to Columbia. But that's not why I've stopped you."

"No?"

"No," she repeated. "I have a business proposition for you. Or rather, a request, if you will. You see, my brother and I have been working on a project of sorts for some time now, and we could use a little help around our laboratory."

I had been by the Lutece building many times before. The police barracaded most of the entryways after the disappearance of the twins, decreeing the site entirely unsafe for human entrance. I wondered, perhaps, if this whole set up had been a ploy to keep others out of their business.

"You want me to help you?" I didn't quite understand. I had been kicked out of school, and yes, I had read many books in my time, and considered myself well educated, but I wasn't ready to work in - did she say a laboratory? In that old house? It was a wonder the whole thing never burst into flames.

"That's correct," she said.

"What would be expected of me?" I asked. "I'm not too familiar with many sciences, I'm afraid, ma'am."

"That's perfect," she commented. "Because what Robert and I do, my dear, is not an exact science. Some call it meddling. Some would even go so far to accuse it of witchcraft - but I assure you, it is one of the above. Oh," she chuckled. "Well, I suppose we do a little meddling here and there."

Curiosity certainly was getting the best of me. I would be absolutely mad to turn down such an incredible opportunity, even as potentially dangerous as it sounded. I would be working alongside the two most important people - aside from Father Comstock - I had ever been near in my entire life.

"Are you interested?" she pressed.

"Yes!" I answered, without really thinking through all the potential repurcussions of my response. "Of course!"

Madame Lutece grinned widely, catching me just below my elbow. "Wonderful!" she said. "Come along. I'll explain more at the house."

"Oh!" I fell behind, pulling my arm from her grasp. I had to get home to Mother. I was already late, and if I didn't return home soon, she would send someone out to fetch me. That someone would, more than likely, be my Step-Father, who would have an unreasonable punishment awaiting me when we returned home. They would never believe me if I told them about Madame Lutece. "I have to go home. My Mother is waiting and -"

Madame Lutece frowned. "I'm sure she will understand," she started. "It will only take a few minutes."

"It's not really my Mother I'm worried about," I told her honestly. "It's my - "

"Step-Father, I know," she provided for me. It was strange for a moment, but then I reminded myself of the hundred or so other things she already knew off the top of her head, and it felt far less unusual she know this detail as well.

"How do you do that?" I asked, stymied.

"Do what?" she asked with a smile.

"Know everything," I pointed out.

Not answering, she merely laughed, starting down the path I knew led straight to the Lutece house. It was a moment of truth, in a sense. Would I pass up such an incredible opportunity, especially for someone who showed little potential in the eyes of the community such as myself, or return home to continue the monotonous strain of life I had grown accustomed to over the years?

I didn't really have to think about it. I could tell Mother that Ms. Golding asked me to stay late to help with the filing. Or perhaps I would tell her that a young man stopped by the shop before closing, and asked me out for a walk. She would then, of course, demand to know the name of the young man - who did not really exist - and proceed to hunt him down for further questioning.

Hurrying after Madame Lutece, she seemed pleased to find me walking alongside her. We approached the house, bypassing all of the warning signs and the locks, to enter through a side door. Electricity filled the air almost immediately, and I could feel the sound popping in my ears. Large wires twisted together, leading to the second floor where a dull blue glow of light eminated. Madame Lutece offered to take the coat from my hands, and placed it on a small rack by the front door.

"Come now," she said. "Don't be shy. Mind where you step, though. Nasty shock if you catch a wire wrong. Remember to lift your feet. Robert shuffles his something terrible. Gotten him into a spot of trouble here and there. He'll be the first to deny it though, so don't bother asking."

I didn't know what to say. Books lined every single shelf in the house. Large overstuffed furniture decorated the sitting room, although the thick layer of dust upon everything implied the Luteces did not spend a good portion of their time relaxing.

"Robert!" Madame Lutece called up the stairs. "Robert! We have a guest!"

While I had glimpsed Rosalind before meeting her, I had only seen the rare picture of Robert. The spitting image of his sister, albeit male, down to his clothing, Robert appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down at us waiting below. He did not smile, his expression perturbed and a bit hesitant.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Miss Charlotte Costello," she explained.

"Maria Costello's girl?" he asked, loftily. "The one who caused all that trouble a few years ago? Down at the school?"

"Ah yes!" Madame Lutece - er, Rosalind - replied, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "What was it you did that caused such a stir?"

"Accused the Prophet of being a heretic himself, I believe it was," Robert answered for me. "A false prophet, if you will."

"Oh my!" Rosalind grinned. "How scandalous."

If the Luteces had heard about that, surely the Prophet himself had heard about it. And all of a sudden, the public backlash I received from the neighbors suddenly made sense. It was as though I were questioning their whole existence. There were children, after all, who were born on Columbia, and knew of no other lifestyle but our own.

"And how very accurate," she added.

Robert shot a dangerous look at his sister. "Now, now," he said. "Be careful what you say."

"Oh hush," she reprimanded. "If she breathes a word to anyone else, they'll just think she's gone mad. No harm done." She shot a sideways glance at me, as though suddenly unsure. "That being said, I don't believe Miss Costello will say anything, am I right?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, ma'am! Absolutely not!"

"She's telling the truth," Rosalind said firmly. "You know she's telling the truth, Robert."

Robert still looked unsure, but nodded, finally descending the stairs toward us. Rosalind gestured toward a doorway just beyond the sitting room. Robert followed close behind, remaining silent. We entered a rather small kitchen, and Rosalind gestured toward a small stool, encouraging me to sit down.

Politely declining, I raised a hand in protest: "Oh no," I said. "I'm fine."

"You say that now," Robert said, closing the door behind him.

"Some of this information will be difficult to digest," Rosalind explained. "Some of it will be nearly impossible to wrap your head around."

Robert corrected her. "Most of it will be nearly impossible to wrap your head around."

Rosalind shot him another dangerous look. "We would never steer you wrong - or put you in any kind of dangerous position -"

"That being said," Robert interrupted. "What we're about to confide in you is not popular among the public."

I stared between the two of them, confused.

"We've already established that you won't say anything, though," Rosalind said hastily. "So no matter. As long as it's not mentioned to anyone - in particular, your family - you should be perfectly safe!"

"I thought you said you two were going away for a bit?" I tried to recall our earlier conversation, and the conversation I had overheard between Madame Lutece and Ms. Golding. I was missing a very integral part of this story, and I hadn't the faintest what they were about to reveal to me.

Robert glanced at Rosalind, an auburn eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. Rosalind avoided his gaze and focused instead on me. "Yes," she agreed. "For a very short while, although even after our return, I should say we may keep our distance from the lab until we've completed our -"

"Experiment," Robert supplied.

"Yes," Rosalind nodded. She drew a deep breath and faced me, folding her hands in front of her. "Now, tell me, my dear. You don't believe in the word of the Prophet?"

I looked between the two of them, unsure what to say in response. Here, standing before me, were two of Father Comstock's most prized confidantes. I certainly couldn't insult him openly in front of them, even if they already seemed to know my answer.

"I - I wouldn't say that, exactly," I mumbled.

"Speak up, girl," Robert instructed.

"Now, now," Rosalind said, more to me than to Robert. "We're all friends here. You can speak freely."

I sighed, shaking my head. "No," I admitted. "I don't believe in the word of the Prophet. In fact, I believe it to be a load of hogwash if you ask me. The whole lot of them up in Emporia. No offense, meant."

Neither twin looked offended. Both bore a similar half-grin that made me feel slightly uneasy. I waited for them to speak before saying anything more against the Prophet.

"How did you come to such a conclusion?" Rosalind asked.

I was a stubborn child growing up, was the real reason. I remembered what life was like back on the ground. I hadn't been raised with any real beliefs, before coming to Columbia, and didn't like having new ones forced onto me. Also, the idea of a Prophet just seemed rather, well, foolish. I told them such.

"Father Comstock believes in Benjamin Franklin as a deity," I explained. "Benjamin Franklin isn't a God. He was a human being. How could one claim such prophecies were bestowed upon him by the man who discovered electricity?"

"Fair enough," Rosalind reasoned. "That being said, one must also be open to the strange discoveries Columbia is making every day. These vigors, for example, the ones they're selling at all the fairs and festivals? There is nothing like them on the mainland. We have..."

"Access," Robert spoke up again.

"Yes," Rosalind accepted the word. "To sciences they don't quite understand on the ground. To materials not yet discovered by the common scientist. Those vigors - they were our handiwork, and continue to grow with potential."

I had seen the vigors before, although I had never tried them. Mother insisted they were dangerous, fit only for the men who dared to drink them - most of which were already under another influence. Not to mention, they were terribly expensive, and we just didn't have the money.

"But what do these vigors have to do with Father Comstock?" I questioned, failing to see the connection. "Are you trying to tell me that Mr. Franklin came to you in a dream and told you how to create them?"

Rosalind nearly laughed out loud, while Robert looked thoroughly annoyed.

"Oh heavens no," Rosalind said. "My dear girl, the Prophet's fascination with these men of power who came before our time has nothing to do with actual prophecy. They are idols to be worshipped, but not necessarily believed in. The people often take these ideas and make their own stories from them, and that is precisely what the people of Columbia did. Father Comstock did nothing more than perpetuate the stories."

"It would have been foolish to try and stop them," Robert said. "People don't often like it when you tell them their beliefs are incorrect."

"No matter how ridiculous they are," Rosalind added.

"Indeed."

I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of it all. "What you're trying to say is that Father Comstock merely allowed the people to come up with their own stories? And passed them off as his own?"

Rosalind half-shrugged. "Father Comstock more or less started quite a few of them, himself. Especially when Columbia was still in its early development. One had to develop a following in order to procure the kind of funding such a project would require. I - " she stopped herself, glancing over at Robert subtly. "Rather, we, had to do much of that work on our own. While the future Comstock spoke of enticed many, it needed to be backed in science, in something - rather ironically - grounded."

I nodded, understanding at least that much.

"Have you ever considered, Miss Costello, the potential for life outside our own existence?" Robert asked, rather abruptly.

I gaped at him. "You mean, the afterlife?"

Rosalind shook her head. "No, we mean, simultaneous life. Or lives. Infinite lives, occurring at the same time."

And once again, I was lost.

"For a single person," Robert added.

I had read about the possibility in books, and started to recall something the two of them had written in particular, but had never entertained the idea of multiple realities. It seemed even more absurd than Father Comstock's practicing idolatries.

"You mean," I started, unsure of exactly what I thought.

"We mean dimensions," Rosalind said. "Outside our own. And the ability to pass from the world we know now, and the worlds beyond."

"Miss Costello, you sit here before us as nothing more than a librarian's aide," Robert pointed out. "In one of these alternate realities, you may be the Queen of Columbia. In another, you could have returned to the world below. In another, you may never have heard of Columbia."

I had to sit down. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. And even if it were, it would be impossible for one to ever find out. Unless of course -

"You said you were traveling," I echoed my earlier statement.

The twins nodded simultaneously, and something inside fell into place. It all made sense, as absolutely ridiculous as it all sounded to me, it made complete sense, everything they'd been saying.

"You're going to another world," I stated.

"You're taking this much better than the last girl we hired," Robert commented, sounding rather impressed. I didn't know whether or to feel complimented.

Rosalind heaved a small sigh, closing her eyes. "Poor girl nearly fainted right out of that chair."

"Then ran off to the others, claiming witchcraft," Robert scoffed.

"That didn't go over well with the Prophet at all," Rosalind kept her eyes closed as she spoke. "Bit of a nasty cover-up work we had to do with that one. Fairly sure he's still got the girl locked away up there. Servant or something of the like, in his home. Only way to keep her from spilling the news to the rest of the country."

"That's terrible," I gasped.

"Better than killing her," Robert replied, rather emotionless. "Could have been much worse. Then we'd have murder on our hands."

Rosalind's eyes popped open. "And we certainly can't have that on our conscience, now could we?"

"I suppose not," I agreed.

"No," Robert chimed in. "No, I suppose not either."

A strange silence fell over the three of us, and I couldn't help but suspect there was something else missing from their story. It was already eerie that the pair in front of me looked so perfectly alike, and that they finished each other sentences, but as I watched them in silence, I couldn't help but notice they reacted in the same fashion. The slight tilt of the head, the deep breath, followed by a flutter of the eyelashes. Robert kept his hands, however, folded behind his back, while Rosalind's remained in front. Otherwise, the two stood exactly alike.

"What do you propose to do in this other world?" I broke the silence, a very small chill running along my core. "Convert them?"

The pair exchanged uncomfortable looks. We finally reached the difficult part of their story, and I could already tell Robert wasn't going to be as cooperative as Rosalind hoped. She took charge, speaking on behalf of both of them.

"No," she answered. "Quite the opposite actually."

"Take Comstock down?" I toyed with my own theories. "You're building an army?"

"No, no," she continued, her head swinging back and forth as though hinged.

"She's not entirely wrong," Robert argued.

"No," Rosalind insisted. "We're not building an army."

"Not us, at least," he allowed. "Indirectly speaking."

"We're fetching a single man," Rosalind spoke over him, now looking directly at me. She no longer smiled. "Just one. No one else."

"Who is he?"

"A private investigator, of sorts," Rosalind supplied. "A Pinkerton. Goes by the name of Booker DeWitt."

Another span of silence. The name bore no importance to me. I had read about the Pinkertons, but knew little about them, aside from their rowdy personalities and brutal nature. Perhaps Mr. DeWitt would be willing to risk much more than the people of Columbia to force the truth out of the Prophet.

I wondered, however, why the pair couldn't simply turn on him on their own. If they knew the truth, and were the very reason he had the power to do what he did, they could expose him for the fraud he was. It would save them the trouble of jumping through what sounded like a very difficult and time-consuming scientific experiment.

As I thought this over, I caught the look on Robert's face. He was young, they both were, but something darker lingered behind his nearly vacant expression. I couldn't imagine they wouldn't have already tried such a tactic. In fact, I was certain they must have. Which only implied they were less than successful.

And explained their very sudden disappearance.

"This Mr. DeWitt," I said slowly. "He's going to help us? You know that for sure?"

Rosalind nodded. "Yes."

"So you've spoken to him?" I pressed on. "You've already tried this whole reality skipping idea?"

Robert's turn: "Yes."

And Rosalind: "Many times."

"The plan is foolproof," Robert assured me. "He goes for it every time."

"Every time," Rosalind echoed.

"Wait," I stopped them. "You mean, you've - you've done this before? With Mr. DeWitt?"

They nodded in unison.

"And..." I dreaded the answer.

"Each time we have been unsuccessful in..." Rosalind searched for the end of her sentence.

"Acheiving the result we seek," Robert finished. "Each time a complete failure."

I swallowed the large lump forming in my throat. "And Mr. DeWitt? What happens to these DeWitts you bring here? What happens when they fail?"

They didn't have to answer for me to know the answer. He died. They did have blood on their hands after all, albeit the blood of a single man, but still repetitive murder of one human being is murder nonetheless. And entirely unfair. What could Mr. DeWitt possibly have done to deserve such a cruel ending over and over?

"How many times?" I asked bluntly.

"Excuse me?" Rosalind looked confused.

"How many times have you brought Mr. DeWitt here from another world?"

Rosalind looked to Robert for the answer to this one. As her eyes fell to the floor shortly after, I could tell she merely didn't want to say the words herself. Remaining stoic, Robert provided me with a number I had not been expecting.

"One hundred and nineteen."

**A/N:** I know these chapters are lengthy, but there's a lot of background going on at the moment. Things will get adventurous and exciting once Booker's present, of course. (And as you can already tell, this is not the current Booker attempt present in the game. This happens before that.)

Please let me know what you think? Thank you again for reading!


	3. The Liberty Fair

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bioshock or any of the related titles.

**Chapter 3: The Liberty Fair**

The Luteces excused me shortly after, and Rosalind escorted me to the side door. Although Robert claimed to be retreating to the laboratory once more, I knew he stood just inside the sitting room, listening to our conversation.

"I suppose I don't have any choice now, do I?" I asked, standing just inside the doorway. They had told me too much already. Even if I swore not to speak a word, they couldn't risk such a secret being exposed to the public. I didn't want to end up working in the Prophet's kitchens for the rest of my life.

"You always have a choice," Rosalind responded. "Whether or not your decision is influenced by something greater is an entirely different story."

"Fate," I suggested.

"Some may call it that," Rosalind tilted her head, the expression on her face almost unreadable. Sympathetic, perhaps. Sorry, even. "In these worlds, these different lifetimes, we often find a series of constants - things that never change, no matter how a situation is presented. And a series of variables - those events that change, but have no direct affect on the outcome."

"Constants and variables," I breathed.

"You have a choice," Rosalind explained. "You'll just never know if it's all part of a constant or a variable."

"And if I choose not to return?" I ventured, a little afraid of her answer. "What then? Will I end up in the Prophet's mansion?"

Rosalind blinked slowly, inhaling deeply through her nose before speaking. "You act as though we know everything, my dear," she said quietly. "Do not put so much faith in us."

A strange remark, especially for someone who could change or end my life in a matter of minutes if she so chose to. I would have rather thought they would want me to have the utmost faith in their abilities.

"Rest on it," Rosalind instructed. "Think over everything you've heard, and everything you've learned - not just here today, but what you've read in those books you surround yourself with every day. Think of the things you've overheard in school, or between your Mother and Step-Father, or erupting from a preacher on the streets. Think of how you felt upon coming to Columbia, and how the Prophet portrays the Sodom below. Make an educated decision, my dear. That is all we can possibly ask of you."

I nodded, unable to think of anything more to say. She closed the door behind me, and I made my very reluctant way home. Upon arrival, I slipped into the kitchen where my Mother sat at our small table, her head in her hands. She jumped slightly as I entered the room, holding a hand over her heart as she realized it was only me.

"Oh my dear," she said. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Where have you been?" she asked, clearing her throat.

Something was wrong, I could tell. She wasn't worrying about me coming home late. It was something else. What, exactly, I didn't know, and I was certain she wasn't about to tell me.

"Work kept me late," I lied. Sort of. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

She shook her head fervently. "No, no," she said. "You're perfectly capable of handling yourself at your age. I needn't worry about you. I know that."

She stared down at the wood graining in the table, and I crossed to the cupboard, reaching inside for something small to eat. I only then realized just how late it must have been, and how long I'd been sitting in the Luteces' own kitchen. Even with all the nerves coursing through my body, I still found myself famished.

"There's a stew in the pot on the stove," Mother said, noticing my searching. "Your Father - " she stopped short as I shot her a look. "Your Step-Father has not been home yet. I'm afraid it might be a tad cold, but still good."

"Thank you," I accepted, turning toward the stove. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Mother asked innocently.

"You've been crying," I pointed out. "I'm not stupid, Mother. I've learned how to read you fairly well over the years. Something is wrong. Tell me."

"It's nothing," she insisted, waving a hand absently. "I'm just tired is all. Lots of preparations today, what with the festival happening tomorrow."

The festival? I nearly dropped my ladle on the floor. I had entirely forgotten that the Liberty Fair was tomorrow. The bookshop would be closed, and all of the people of Columbia - those of good fortune, at least - would turn out into the streets, cheering and singing. There would be wonderful food, and marvelous displays of Columbian inventions, and music - so much music. It was disgustingly wonderful, but even I had to admit I often enjoyed myself.

That being said, I still didn't believe a word my Mother said. She worked the Liberty Fair every year. She loved it every minute of it.

"Anything else?" I pressed.

She rose from her chair, and appeared to be heading for the door before she turned and crossed to my side. I set my small bowl of stew down as her hand came in contact with the side of my face. She stared at me for what felt like an hour, and I did my best not to blink too much in return, or look the other way. As many secrets as my Mother had, I had infinitely more, and I did not want her to know I had anything to hide.

"The Prophet speaks of disaster," she finally said. "He speaks of uprisings. He speaks of the Sodom below. A man - this False Shepherd - coming to us to bring in an age of death and despair. He speaks of such terrible - such awful things, my dear Charlotte. It's enough to set any woman's nerves on edge, especially when they have so much to lose."

I stared back at her, suddenly feeling almost sorry for my Mother. Upon arrival in Columbia, she had such a strong mind, and a formidable sense of independence. What had happened to her since then frightened me. She was no longer the woman I remembered, but a trembling mass of skeptical, superstitious fright in front of me.

"You know the False Shepherd does not exist, Mother," I told her. "We've been here for years, and no one has ever spotted him."

"He is deceptive," Mother said, fearfully. "He walks among us every day. He hides his mark with gloves."

"Mother," I grasped her face in my own hands. "Do you know how crazy you sound?"

"It's not craziness, my child," she said. "Father Comstock says that the False Shepherd will come for the Lamb - our only way to salvation - our lady Lamb who resides in the -"

"Father Comstock is not an all-knowing being," I said firmly, holding her face tight. I wanted her to look me in the eyes while I spoke to her. She had to understand. Someone had to tell her the truth. I had promised the Luteces I wouldn't, but she was family, and I couldn't see her go down like the others.

"The angel of Columbia tells him all -" she fought.

"Father Comstock is a fraud!" I shouted.

I felt her hand come in contact one more time with the side of my face, however this time with much more force behind it than the time before. I tumbled backward, landing hard on the floor. Touching the spot where she hit me, I gazed up at her, both stunned and horrified. She did not appear at all sorry for her actions, and instead, enraged at my comments.

"You will not speak such blasphemy in my household!" she roared. "Do you understand me? Do you know what I've gone through for you? It is because of you - because of your filth and lies - that I must hang my head in shame while in public. Why I must attend church multiple times a day to beg the Angel of Columbia for forgiveness for your wicked ways. Why I have asked Father Comstock himself numerous times for his forgiveness above all else."

As she shook with anger, I rose to my feet, backing away from her. I was right about the changes in her. This woman was no longer my Mother, and in that instant, I knew exactly what my choice would be in regards to the Luteces. Change was coming, as Rosalind suggested, and if this False Shepherd meant to overthrow Father Comstock, then I knew who I had to find. And once this Booker DeWitt arrived on the soil of Columbia, I knew exactly who to introduce him to first. Together, DeWitt and the False Shepherd might just stand a chance to stop him.

Allowing my hand to fall to my side, I stared at my Mother for a long silent moment before daring to speak: "I never asked for his forgiveness, Mother," I said, my voice quiet, but grounded. "He could never grant it."

And I left. I shut myself in my room the whole night, ignoring the sounds of my Mother storming up and down the stairs, and shifting the furniture in the kitchen. When my Step-Father finally did return home, I could hear them loudly arguing below. I expected him to knock on my door, insisting I come with him to the sitting room where he would berate my beliefs for hours on end. On several occasions, when Mother wasn't home, and I was much younger, he would remove his belt, insisting that a child of sin must be taught the error of their way through beatings. Bloodletting was an ancient form of punishment and repentance for those with bits of the devil in them, he claimed, leaving me sore and unable to sit for days at a time. Mother never asked questions, nor did I believe she knew. If she did, she internally justified it, I was sure.

But he never came. I spent the evening in silence, and when the sun arose the next morning, I slipped out the front door without a sound before the others even knew I was awake. I kept my distance from the crowds already growing around the town square, and turned down the street that led to the Lutece Lab. I could see the barricades and felt a kind of excitement rush through my chest. I couldn't believe I was actually going to go through with this.

"Excuse me, Miss!"

A police officer hurried toward me, holding his hands out to stop me from moving any closer. He gestured toward the signs and several other officers waiting outside the building.

"I'm afraid this area is off-limits," he explained. "We're going to have to ask you to turn around."

I didn't know what to tell him. Standing a few feet behind him, a pair of officers pulled their guns in front of them, as though enforcing his statement. My eyes traveled to the front door of the Lab, wondering if the Luteces were standing just inside, waiting for her.

"I'm afraid I'm on my way to work," I tried to explain. I didn't know how I was going to explain walking into the Lab moments later, but I couldn't think of anything more convincing.

The officer narrowed his eyes. "Businesses are closed today," he said. "That's the law. Everyone's down at the festival. Why don't you go check it out? It's much too dangerous for a young woman to be over here."

"What's happening?" I asked, watching as a small group of new officers make their way toward the front porch.

"Nothing to concern yourself with," the officer stepped closer to me, his hands still out, as though preparing to grab me if I ran - which I admittedly had already considered. "Just a little trouble with old wiring."

Old wiring, my heel. The Luteces had already started their experiment and I was late for it. They must have assumed I wasn't coming, and went ahead without me. A little hurt, I frowned, but didn't move.

"Miss," the officer repeated. "We're going to have to ask you to turn around."

I nodded and, for a split second, considered once again running toward the building. I knew exactly where the door on the side of the building was, and I could find it easily. If I managed to get inside, however, the officers would do anything in their power to get inside as well. I would be putting everything at risk. With a sigh, I did as the officers told me to, and started back toward town square.

As the music met my ears, I tried to drown myself in the bustle of the crowd, pushing all thought of the Luteces from my mind. It was my way out - out of what, I wasn't entirely sure, but perhaps Columbia itself. Even if the plan had failed, they could have helped me. They could have placed me anywhere - and I mean, literally anywhere - and it would have been better than here. Knowing there was a way to be transplanted, without any real notice at all, I suddenly felt trapped.

I approached a young woman with a basket tied around her neck. She stood in front of a small tent, soliciting gentlemen as they passed by, offering them a bottle from the basket. Spirits, I assumed, of a sort. I had never a drop in my life, but the temptation remained. As I drew closer, I realized it wasn't a spirit after all. The bottles - emblazoned with a pierced heart - resembled the bottled vigors I'd seen before.

"How much?" I asked, reaching for my bag.

The girl turned to me, frowning suddenly. "I'm afraid it's not for sale," she declared.

"I just saw you give that gentleman a bottle," I pointed after a tall blonde man who had just spoken with her moments before. "How much is it?"

"I told you," she replied, her lips growing tight. "It's not for sale."

"Then what is it?" I prompted, genuinely curious. "A vigor?"

She nodded, allowing me that much information. "It is," she said. "But it is for gentleman only. It is much too dangerous for a lady. Manufacturer's orders. We're not even allowed to charge for it. It's at the interested man's own risk."

I eyed the bottles sitting on the counters behind her, noticing the large sign atop the tent. "Posession" it read, in dripping green letters. A small diagram behind the counter displayed what I assumed to be the effects of the Possesion vigor in an almost childlike cartoon manner.

"What does it do?" I pushed.

"That is none of your concern," the woman refused to answer. "As I said before, it's not for ladies and that's the final word on the subject. Carry on, now." She turned suddenly, accosting the nearest gentleman. I noticed a drastic change in her tone as she attempted to convince the man to take one of the bottles, despite the obvious danger of doing so.

With her back turned, I decided to do something I never would have had the nerve to do before. I snatched a bottle from the counter and slipped it into my bag, hurrying hastily in the other direction before she could take notice. I only hoped those nearby had turned a blind eye as well. After all, it wasn't really stealing if they were already just giving the item away.

"The lottery will begin in five minutes!" a booming voice sounded over a speaker nearby. "Five minutes!"

I had never witnessed the lottery before, although everyone spoke highly of it every year. This time, I knew it was only the gentlemen allowed to participate, but it didn't mean I wasn't allowed to watch. Women, who looked very much like the girl with the vigors, walked around with similar baskets, filled with baseballs. On each baseball was a number scrawled across the white center. I watched as several men claimed their number and started toward the growing crowd in front of an elaborate stage. A man in an elegant tophat stood at the center, calling out:

"Seventy-Seven! Number seventy-seven!"

One of the many young women wandering the square with a basket stepped forward, pointing out an older gentlemen in front of the stage.

"Right here! He's number seventy-seven!"

The man stepped forward as the host on stage gestured toward the backdrop. As the curtains parted, loud music started and a couple appeared, pulled forward by a small cart. It took me a moment to notice that the couple were tied to the cart, and crying for help. The couple, a white man and a dark woman, were being punished. Relations between the races were strictly forbidden. As the audience howled with laughter, the host decreed the man in the audience privileged with the first throw. Horrified, I tried pushing my way forward, coming only to a halt when the man aimed to throw instead at the host. As he raised his hand, officers on either side of him cried out, grabbing him by the arm.

"The False Shepherd!" they shouted. "It's him!"

Chaos broke out among the townspeople. I couldn't see what the man did next, but several people screamed, and suddenly the officers opened fire, shooting after the man they claimed to be False Shepherd. His disappeared up a nearby path, firing in return, leaving large pools of blood upon the stones. I considered following him, but thought better of it, taking into account I had nothing to arm myself with against the officers, and no way of assuring the False Shepherd I wasn't going to turn him in. Instead, I darted down an empty alley, listening close to the sound of gunshots in the distance. If I could, at least, keep close by and catch him when his guard was down.

I looked up to see him fly by on one of the skyrails and I darted into a nearby building. Home to a family of much more fortune than I, I was surprised to find the house empty, and unlocked. Toeing down the main hall, I was careful to keep quiet as I searched for a back door.

I fell backward as something came crashing through a high window, landing hard on the floor in front of me. The man scrambled to his feet, brushing away the broken glass. As he turned around, I recognized him as the man from the lottery.

"It's you," I gasped.

"Don't scream," he said quickly, holding out his hands innocently. "I swear I'm - "

On the back of his right hand was a brand of sorts, the letters A.D. carved into his skin. The warning signs around town all decreed the same thing: He will be known by his mark! Mother had been right all along.

"You're him," I said. "You're real. You're the False Shepherd."

"I'm not the False Shepherd," he insisted.

"But your hand!" I pointed out. "You have to be. Father Comstock said - " I stopped myself. I had lived this long without buying into the Prophet's beliefs, and I wasn't about to change that. Perhaps the man in front of me was telling the truth.

"I'm just here for the girl," the man explained. "They just told me to bring them the girl. I don't know anything about a goddamn Prophet."

I got to my feet, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. "They?" I asked. "They who? Who sent you?"

"The twins," he said. "They came to my office and asked me to find the girl. Told me - " he stopped short, as though reconsidering his story.

But I didn't care much for anything else he had to say. The first part of his sentence clicked and suddenly, everything made sense. Father Comstock knew everything the Luteces knew. If they had performed their numerous experiments before, Father Comstock would also know the arrival of the man they sought. He would be expecting it, therefore, in order to protect himself, would make it so all of Columbia was looking for him too.

"The twins?" I said, just to be sure. "What twins?"

"I don't know," he answered, clearly frustrated. "Never met them before in my life. Didn't introduce themselves. They're the ones that brought me here."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Then it worked," I said. "You're Booker DeWitt."

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone reading so far! Please let me know what you think. :)


End file.
